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May "COD" Be With You

Bilbao, Spain, Gastronomy Tour 2005

By Richard Frisbie

Autumn is the rainy season in Bilbao, so I wasn't surprised that the week I was there it rained every day but one. The memory card on my digital camera was nearly filled with images of umbrellas and beautiful buildings artfully reflected in the rain-soaked pavement. Then the clouds parted. College crews sculling down the river, couples on the promenade, and surfers anxious to hit the beach, all rewarded me with sunny smiles. Even the sparkling Guggenheim blessed me with its hourly wreath of man-made fog obscuring the titanium shell. It was as if Penn & Teller were hired to make the Museum disappear and then appear again as the sun dissolved the mist. I would go back for just that one magical day, and, of course, for the food.

In November the Spanish government sent me a last-minute invitation to come to Bilbao, Spain on a press trip. Besides our host, who was on the Spanish Tourism Board, there was a widely syndicated food columnist, a famous cookbook author, and a well known photographer. It was a small group --  but one with clout! I was the odd man out, a lowly bookseller, there to fill an eleventh hour vacancy. My name is Richard Frisbie. I'm a substitute traveler writer, and this is my story.

Bilbao was my second  "Year of Gastronomy" trip to Spain. The first was to Barcelona in the Spring, and was very successful. That's why they asked me back. This trip called for a walking tour of the city, bar hopping for tapas, reservations at six top restaurants, and an evening at the symphony. In addition, there were bus trips to the beach and nearby towns, a wine tasting, and a tour of a cooking school. I needed to pack everything, including the kitchen sink!

Even experienced travelers make mistakes. My worse gaff on the Bilbao trip was to attempt to smuggle a screwdriver through the airport's x-ray machine. I don't mean a weapon-sized one, just one to repair eyeglasses, or connect peripherals to a laptop. It was tiny enough to lie forgotten in a side pocket of my computer bag, but security reacted as if it were an automatic pistol with a few extra clips! During the commotion that followed I had to empty all my pockets and my briefcase into a plastic bin.  I got frazzled, and when they were finished with me I collected my briefcase but I left the contents in the tray. Fortunately, I realized this about an hour later. I ran back down in a panic and managed to convince the security guard to give my car keys back, but the money, and everything else was gone. So much for my "professional" status. I put the keys in my carryon, so if they lost my checked luggage I'd still be able to drive home, and returned, very embarrassed, to the group.

The flight was uneventful, and we arrived in Bilbao safely. After we checked into the brand new Sheraton Hotel we had our first meal together. Now, I'm never late for anything, especially when called to the table. This time, I was late. My room "key" wouldn't work. The hotel was so new that some kinks were yet to be smoothed out. I made three trips to the front desk, pulling my suitcase with the kitchen sink in it, and carrying what increasingly became too heavy to call a carryon. Finally someone there managed to encode the card properly. Then I had to shower away the grogginess of the overnight flight. Unshaven and still a little testy about the key, I met the others waiting impatiently for me in the lobby, and we went into the Sheraton's restaurant.

It wasn't my fault that the meal started badly. The waitress brought the wine and announced it was a 2001 vintage.  My innocuous remark "that was a very good year" elicited a "what do you know about wine, anyway", more as a statement than a question, from the alpha member of the group. Here's where I regained my "professional" status. We were all tired and irritable. Instead of snapping, I replied, "I know very little about wine, except that I like to drink it. So, I read an article on Spanish wine yesterday morning which claimed that there were eleven "excellent " vintages throughout all the wine growing regions of Spain in the last 80 odd years, and 2001 was one of them. 2004 was also, and there was one in  the late 90's, I believe. The others, I forget. Sorry. You are correct. I really know very little about wine. I just hope it's a good year, because I could use a drink." All this delivered with a warm smile, and without sarcasm, recriminations, or reproach. I am a genial traveler, after all. Then I proposed a toast "to good friends and a good trip." We got along fine after that. We had to. The opposite was unthinkable.

The next morning over breakfast, which was an 18 euro affair with more sliced Iberico ham than could be cut from one pig, the columnist happened to mention a desire to taste cuijada during our stay. Cuijada is simply raw sheep's milk and rennet pudding. It was long a staple of the local farmer's diet. We were supposed to be there for gourmet food. Such peasant fare was not on our menu that day, nor was it on the menu on subsequent days. However, huge bowls of the unflavored Junket-like substance were automatically delivered to our table every morning thereafter. As far as I was concerned, one small taste was enough, but, that one casual remark condemned us to a week of cuijada hell.

Word travels fast in the elite food circles we were frequenting. Everywhere we went cuijada kept turning up. Chef Daniel Garcia in the TV studio kitchen of his restaurant Zortziko, surprised us with it before teaching us how to turn "simple" foie gras into an elegant appetizer with caramelized pears and a wine glace. Then, in the Guggenheim's Jatetxea Restaurante, after an incredible seven course lunch where the best dish was baked tomato stuffed with baby squid, served on a bed of risotto and fresh cream blackened with the ink of the squid, chef Josean Alija invited us back before the restaurant opened the next morning so we could taste his version of cuijada. We couldn't refuse. This happened everywhere we went. By the 5th day we were cuijada-ed out. I hope never to eat rennet pudding again.

Not so for bacalao and pil pil sauce. It is a traditional cod dish that I could eat everyday, and we did! Every famous chef, and all the cooks in the tapas bars, serve their own versions using Spain's excellent dried salt cod. Not to be that know-it-all, but I read Mark Kurlansky's book ,"COD" and I did know all about it. Still, I'd never tasted pil pil sauce. That's what made the trip for me. Spanish cod has the skin on it, which is an oddity for us purist Americans. The skin is one key to the garlicky yellow sauce called pil pil. As the cod cooks in olive oil with garlic, a chemical reaction with the skin causes the oil to thicken into a sauce. All this only happens if one swirls the contents of the prerequisite shallow circular pan for about a half hour while it cooks. Professional chefs have a machine to do this. The rest of us do the pil pil dance, which is similar to the Twist, but with more upper body movement than lower. Let me assure you, it is more fun to watch than to do, but either way, the result can be Nirvana. When in Spain, eat cod!

I had cod tapas, deep fried cod fritters, cold cod salad, and the ubiquitous cod and pil pil sauce until I became such a good judge of this Spanish staple that I knew when not to eat it. For instance, one evening the cod was too salty for me to finish. Michelin stars or no, the chef just didn't soak it long enough for my taste. Another time, during an elaborate meal in a very elegant  restaurant which shall go unnamed, there was a cod course I would not eat. I couldn't get the foul smell of it past my nose! No amount of assurances from the chef convinced me otherwise. This was after a night we were all sick from bad oysters, and I reasoned that there was only so much porcelain hugging I was willing to do. (As a side note - Bilbao has the cleanest bathrooms of any city I've ever been in.)

In fact, I nearly got in trouble because of my bathroom visits. In one, on a distant and little-traveled floor of  the Restaurante Jolastoki, the men's room was beautifully done in the local marble, and the walls were hung with images of various New York City buildings. It was a study in "foreign" architecture that I  thought was odd for a country fast becoming famous for its own. As I admired the photos I noticed a blank space, and knew immediately what was missing. I was concerned that the owner would think I was responsible, but when I told her, she explained that she knew the Twin Towers photo was gone, and told us who she suspected of stealing it.  All I can say is I'm glad they weren't Americans!

The trip wasn't all about eating, although it seemed so at times. One side trip to the picturesque fishing village of Bermeo was ostensibly to visit the museum there. However, as we passed an open door, the cooking smells wafting out caused a detour, and a commotion. It was one of Spain's famous food clubs for men only - no women allowed - but the two women in our party would not take no for an answer. Fortunately, our progress through the best eateries of Bilbao was in all the newspapers, and even a segment on the local Basque TV, so once our celebrity was recognized, our hosts graciously allowed a tour of their kitchen. That was all, though. We were directed to a tapas bar down a cobblestone alley if we wanted to eat. Of course we went.

That made us late for our lunch at Baserri Maitea, the restaurant choice of Kings. It is owned by Juan Zaldua, a former "football" (read that soccer) goalie for the Spanish National Team. The restaurant is an ancient barn with huge beams, and side rooms with lofts overlooking the main dining area. There were fireplaces burning in every room, and even a potbellied stove at the entrance. They, and what heat emanated from the kitchen, provided the toasty warmth we needed on a raw, rainy day. The meal Juan prepared for us tied for the informal title "Best Meal of the Trip." One of the eight courses was a thick slab of aged beef, seared quickly on one side and presented raw side up with a "shooter" of gazpacho. The filet was so tender I cut it with my fork. The paired wine was an "excellent" 2001 San Vicente Rioja, making this the best meat course I've ever eaten. Naturally, we had cuijada again, this time for dessert!

One night we went to hear the Bilbao Symphony in their new digs, a huge concert hall in the Euskalduna Conference Center. Afterward, we dined in the Restaurante Etxanobe on the top floor of the center. Here chef Fernando Canales presented us with an incredible example of his creative genius. He served roast suckling pig capped with a translucent cellophane of potato essence so thin I could see through it. I've never encountered anything like it before, and may not again. He had my "Best Meal" vote. His wine choices went perfectly with each of the eight courses, and his engaging presence at the table, with his humor, made it truly a one-of-a-kind meal.

To fill the empty hours, and our impossibly empty stomachs between all the gourmet meals, we went bar-hopping for tapas, until, at week's end we felt like the proverbial fatted calf. The photographer referred to the trip as "Eating Bilbao". The columnist called it "Spain on Five Meals a Day".  The cookbook author decreed it, "Death by Foie Gras." And all I could say was  "May Cod Be With You!"

WHEN YOU GO

Generally tips were included, but great service could have a 5% tip, although it is not expected. Add 7% VAT to hotel & restaurant bills.

Guide Service: Guia turistico (Xabier Lexartza Argiarro)

guinness@euskalnet.net Great Guide!

Bilbao Tourism: http://www.bilbao.net/bilbaoturismo/

Sheraton Bilbao Hotel - www.sheraton-bilbao.com off season 85 euros per night double room plus 18 euros breakfast buffet. Good food, bar and cordial service. Promised 5 star facilities and services such as a pool, and Internet access in the rooms, were not yet available at this extremely convenient location.

Guggenheim Museum www.guggehheim-bilbao.es 9 to 12 euros depending on exhibits. The current Richard Serra exhibit is amazing, as is the odd phenomenon that every 62 minutes the museum becomes enshrouded in a man-made fog, rising from the fountains and pools outside the building as if Penn & Teller were hired to make it disappear and appear again as the winds dissipate the mist!

Jatetxea Restaurante www.martinberasategui.com price fixed 53 euros (plus wine & vat)

Restaurante Etxanobe www.etxanobe.com Gastronomy Menu 65 euros (plus wine & vat)

Restaurante  Zortziko www.zortziko.es 50 to 60 euros (plus wine & vat)

All photos by the author

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